


Fine

by PaperKatla



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Brief mention of needles, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-11 01:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10451586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperKatla/pseuds/PaperKatla
Summary: Sometimes Cisco still gets headaches. Caitlin helps.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hedgi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedgi/gifts).



The metro train was strangely crowded for a Tuesday night. Cisco found himself sitting crushed between a white dude with dreads and a student in a Hud U hoodie who looked about as exhausted as he felt. The rumble of the train was extremely loud, and his head throbbed from fighting off the vibes that battered at his mind. He just wanted to get home without any incident. Nervously, he clutched at his backpack, taking comfort in the fact that his goggles were inside--safe and sound in case he needed them.

He kinda hated that he needed them.

He’d already vibed twice that day with his goggles to track down their meta-of-the-week, once when he touched some random bit of particle accelerator rubble in the Pipeline, and once more in his sleep when he tried to get in a quick catnap after everything wrapped up--because it’d just been that kind of day. Now, he just wanted to go sleep.

Stumbling off the train, he zombie-walked the two blocks to his apartment, hunching his shoulders against the drizzling rain. His building was cool inside, and the lighting dim and he was thankful for that. Fumbling with his locks, he kicked off his shoes at the door and dropped his keys into the bowl that Caitlin had made him at the pottery painting place they’d gone to on their last friendship date. He still got a kick at the little message she’d painted into the design at the bottom of the bowl--“Aqui estan las pinches llaves!!!”--and laughed even though it made his head hurt more.

Faceplanting on his bed, he dug his short nails through his thick hair and into the thin skin at the back of his skull. He bent his head towards his middle and curled his feet up, tucking his knees up against his chest. “Ugh,” he moaned into his pillow. “Fuck.”

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to be alone. And,yes, he had more than one maybe-more-than-friends woman in his phone at that moment, but he didn’t really want them. He wanted his best friend. He wanted Caitlin.

It wasn’t that it was he was in a lot of pain. The headaches always felt so minor that it was hard for him to not feel somewhat guilty bringing them up to Caitlin. They were not debilitating. They did feel like the mini-stroke had felt. They were a soft, dull, constant pain. But, the headaches stayed for hours, sometimes days, never getting worse, never getting better, and didn’t go away no matter how many aspirin he knocked back. It felt like they were shaving away at his sanity--like Chinese water torture.

He had a history of giving in to torture.

He texted Caitlin.

Cisco  
You still up?  
1:17am

Her reply came a few seconds later.

Cait  
Yes. What’s wrong?  
1:17am

He blinked at his phone screen, which felt painfully bright and made his stomach roll. Leave it to Caitlin to automatically know something was wrong. Or maybe that was just obvious given how late it was. He wondered what was keeping her up so late. Work? Netflix? Nightmares?

Slowly, he typed a reply.

Cisco  
Head is killing me.  
1:18 am  
  
Cisco  
Can’t make it stop. Wanna puke.  
1:19am

  
Cait  
I’m coming over.  
1:19am

He thought about telling her not to come, but he was weak.

Dropping his phone face-down on the mattress, he curled up into a tighter ball and told himself not to cry. He’d done a lot of crying since Dante’s death, since Flashpoint. He vibed in his sleep for weeks after he found out exactly how much Barry had changed things. That’s when the headaches had kicked off again. Now, though, he felt like they were the default setting.

He could sleep off the headaches. Most of the time. It was just a matter of falling asleep in the first place. The headaches started behind his eyes and traveled to the back of his head in a perfectly straight line through his brain. He was pretty certain this was what a lobotomy would feel like. He ignored the nausea that came in rolling waves--he’d been vomit-free since 2013 and he intended to keep it that way. He twisted onto his other side, digging his nails deeper into the back of his skull, as if he could dig deep enough to dig the pain out, claw it out from under his skin, pull it slowly out of his brain. If he could sleep, though, the pain would go away. Probably. Assuming the vibes didn’t start again in his sleep.

Outside, the rain started to pick-up, battering his window pane. The wind whistled down the alley, causing the telephone wires and laundry lines to sing a chorus of high-pitched, tea-kettle notes. Every few moments a particularly strong gust of wind set the window rattling inside the old, wooden frame. Upstairs, his usually quiet neighbor was playing reggaeton music just loud enough for the bass line to stab its way through the ceiling and into his bedroom. Groaning, he curled up tighter, the movement causing another wave of nausea to come rushing up from his stomach.

The front door opened and closed softly, and he could hear Caitlin drop her own keys in the bowl. He followed her heeled steps to his bedroom. “Oh, Cisco,” she sighed, sinking down next to him on the bed. She was still in her coat, and he could hear the sound of water dripping onto the floor, could smell the damp on her. She combed her fingers through his hair, gently moving his hands away and down to his sides. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since this morning,” he croaked.

He heard her rifle through her oversized purse--the one she kept as a discreet first aid kit--and heard the now-familiar sounds of her tearing into the package of a sterile syringe. He opened his eyes to see her extract liquid from a small glass vial. “It’s morphine,” she replied to his unasked question. “Your vibe headaches aren’t exactly run-of-the-mill, so I’m giving you this.” She pulled a rubber strap from her backpack and tied off his arm. “But, this isn’t gonna become a habit. I’m not enabling you to start any opiate addictions.” The needle slid easily into his arm and a rush of cold washed through his veins. “It should take effect in the next few minutes.”

The morphine made him feel wibbly and cold, and a bit nauseous for a few moments, until it settled. He watched her pack up the used needle in a travel-sized sharps disposal bin she pulled from deep within her purse and trash everything else. “Hey,” he said.

“Is it kicking in?”

He nodded, feeling sleepy. The nausea was a distant feeling that he could ignore. His head was clear. Slowly, he uncurled from his fetal position and scooched over to allow her room next to him on the mattress. It’d been quite a while since they’d had a “sleepover”and having Caitlin toe off her shoes and slide in next to him felt an awful lot like the weeks after Ronnie died the second time--before everyone went their separate ways for a hot second.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“The morphine is great,” he replied.

“No, not that,” she said. “When you nap in the old break room, you whimper in your sleep. I know the vibes hurt you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Well, are _you_ okay?”

She stared at him. “I’m fine.”

Above them, the neighbor’s reggaeton played on, the beat hammering the ceiling while the rain pummeled the window over their heads. Sickly yellow streetlight made its way inside. Silently, she took his hand as he closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I get headaches. They suck. If I have to suffer, so do my fav fictional characters. That's the rules.


End file.
